


Tomorrow And Tomorrow

by psychbreak



Series: Trainwreckstuck [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Post-Sburb/Sgrub
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:16:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychbreak/pseuds/psychbreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Shikki!  Happy (early) birthday.  8)  Turned a 3,500-comment musebox thread into a fic.  I officially have no life.  There's a lot to this but I think I'm just going to let it speak for itself rather than junking it up with notes, so have at it and enjoy!!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Tomorrow And Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Shikki! Happy (early) birthday. 8) Turned a 3,500-comment musebox thread into a fic. I officially have no life. There's a lot to this but I think I'm just going to let it speak for itself rather than junking it up with notes, so have at it and enjoy!!

It's probably more than obvious before Dave even steps inside the house that he's already wasted off his ass: the way the car screeches into the driveway like he’s never heard of brakes, and for whatever reason he lays on the horn and then basically falls out of the driver's side door, leaving the engine running, the headlights on and the door open as he stumbles up to the house and barges in like he owns the place.

Oh wait.

But unlike some nights where Dave's ridiculously drunk but still coherent, or in one of those rare silly bitch moods, the way he throws the front door open so hard it slams into the wall makes it clear what sort of temperament he's in tonight. Part of that may be due in fact to what drives him to drink in the first place, and he won't take "that's just an excuse" for an answer. He's got a  _right_ , god damn it, to be pissed off when he's just trying to have a good time and something has to come up that reminds him of his shitty home life, his dead-end relationship that's just gone so sour that he doesn’t know how to fix, and a multitude of other things he’s too far gone to remember right now.  Maybe even doesn't want to. Doesn't know anymore, doesn't care.

”Hey.”  He uses the doorway to steady himself and leans into the room, tugging his shades down his nose so he can see over them.  
   
”Where you at, Mister Passive Aggressive Texts At Two AM? Got a surprise for you.”  
   
It's no longer worth screaming underneath a pulse-pounding beat to keep the neighbors from knowing. When the door slams Tavros doesn't flinch anymore, he hardly stirs from the couch. Broad shoulders rise and fall in a quiet sigh because he knew; he  _knew_  he should have known better than to provoke Dave when he's out doing what he does. This isn’t unexpected, this isn't new behavior, he's too jaded to care and this is too mundane to draw out whatever Dave is hoping for in this display. 

He licks his thumb, turns the page and slips the bookmark solidly between pages 299 and 300.

”You could have just, said you were on your way.”  
   
He hates this. Hates being the center of attention, hates the neighbors’ concerned stares, would gladly fly back into Vriska's arms and under her boot if it meant that there was no more screaming matches to be had here.  
   
Once Dave manages to focus his eyes on Tavros, he pushes his shades back up on his face and swings his way into the room, one hand bracing himself on the wall next to him, the other jabbing a thumb toward the doorway behind him.  
   
”That wouldn't be any fun. C'mon, we're going for a ride.”  
   
“What?”  That's it all Tavros can say, just for a second. And then, slightly disgusted, patience wavering, “You're drunk, Dave. We're not, going for a drive.”  
   
“I'm not drunk, dumbass, how the fuck d'you think I got here? Get the lead out already, the engine's fucking running.”  He says that, but he's already making his way over, not stupid enough to assume Tavros would do anything he says to anymore, sober or otherwise.  Everything is a fight, even when it doesn’t need to be.  
   
“You can barely walk.”  Tavros watches warily.  It's not as if he can stop Dave from getting his way if he really wants it.  “You can go, turn it off. I'm not going.”  
   
“Too bad, yes you are. You can't just turn down invitations to go to cool places all the time, doesn't matter how much of a loser shut-in you are. I got this shit all set up.”

Because he's  _so considerate_ , and someone he was drinking with was bright enough to give him the idea.  Why don't you just bring him here so he can see for himself how busy you are, it doesn't matter if he's seen it already, obviously he doesn't fucking remember!  Besides, he sounds like a total asshole, we'll set him straight for you, dude.

Yeah, we'll shut him up.

Dave said fuck off to that last part, but hey, the rest of it, why not.  He wobbles his way over to Tavros' chair and steadies himself on one of the handles.  
   
Tavros can smell it on of him,  _fuck_  he can practically taste it.  “We can go, tomorrow. It's late.”  He doesn't want to go to whatever shitty surprise Dave has cooked up, no one would want to. Not when he reeks that badly of alcohol and bad decisions. His hands move to the wheels, the break, slowly and cautiously like he's trying not to alarm a wild animal.

”We can just, go to bed and, discuss this when you're sober.”  
   
Even slowly, Dave sees the movement and narrows his eyes (not that it really shows, but it's just as easy to sense the aggression rolling off of him as it is the intoxication), both hands on both handles and then jerking the chair back onto its back wheels. It's at the risk of completely upending himself, but he has the wall to lean back against until he gets his balance back.

”Won't be there tomorrow. 'sides, I'm plenty sober.  Don't think I won't just drag you out there with no wheelchair at all, cause I will.”  
   
There's a startled cry at that. The troll clenches the wheels tightly between his hands. The feeling of falling still doesn't sit particularly well with him.

The message is clear; he unlocks the wheels and swallows hard. Going with the chair is better than without.

”Okay, fine. Just—stop doing that.”  
   
Compliant, Dave lowers the chair back onto the ground, leaning relatively heavily on it as he wheels Tavros through the house and out the front door.  ”You're never down for anything that isn't boring as fuck. I'm doing you a huge favor, dude.”  
   
Another small sound of protest. Tavros grips the arms of the chair tightly, tilting his head accordingly as they pass through the doors so his horns won’t catch.  
”That's not, true. And, I don't think so but, you're clearly not listening to me, so…”  
   
Dave pushes Tavros up to the back door of the car and opens it, tilting the chair forward expectantly. Long gone are the days, apparently, when he would be more patient, or actually give him a hand. That's probably true for a lot more things than just getting into the car.

_I'm doing you a huge favor, dude._

”How can you not think so, you don't even know where we're going.”  
   
Tavros is used to it. Utterly  _resigned_ to this constant almost-abuse.  He doesn't want to go; this seems stupid and dangerous, so forgive his reluctance to climb into the seat. Not that he thinks Dave will. 

He sits in the stoniest of silences for a long moment.  Dave growls out, “Any day now, princess,” and tilts the chair even further forward so that Tavros begins to slide toward the space between the car and the ground and something inside snaps.  He won’t go.  He just won’t.  His hands reach out to brace himself on the inside of the car door and he forces himself back into his wheelchair as best he can, growling low in his throat.  
   
“I’m not getting in that car, Dave.”  
   
“Come the fuck _on_ ,” Dave snarls and in a display of overwhelming impatience he begins shaking the chair.  It’s about all Tavros can stand.  It’s just as bad as Vriska ever was to him in the past.  No—it’s worse.  He repeats that he’s not going and somehow manages to hold his ground, just barely hanging onto the chair instead of being tossed out of it.  After a moment, the shaking stops and Tavros feels all four wheels hit the ground again.  For a split second he thinks he’s managed to convince him and there’s relief.  
   
But it doesn’t last.  Dave comes around to the front of the wheelchair and the look on his face says this isn’t over.  “I’m so sick of this shit.”  His keys come out of his pockets.  “It’s like you’re determined to do the opposite of everything I say no matter what it is.  We don’t ever do shit together and that _ain’t_ my fault.”  
   
 _Isn’t,_ Tavros thinks bitterly, saying nothing.  He’ll weather it until Dave gets tired of bitching and then he can go back inside and just go to bed.  It’s an old hat.  There’s a brief pause and he glances up.  
   
“Get in the fucking car.”  
   
“No.”  
   
“Get in the car, or I’m leaving.”  
   
Tavros looks up, brow furrowing.  “You always leave, anyway.”  
   
“I mean I’m _leaving_.  We’re fucking done.  I’m not going to go through this rigmarole every time you decide you’re on the troll rag.  I’ve had enough.”  
   
For a moment he can’t believe it.  Dave says and even occasionally threatens some crazy things when he’s drunk but this is the most extreme he thinks he’s ever heard.  ‘Get in the car or I’m breaking up with you’?  Really?  “Dave…”  
   
“Get.  In the fucking.  Car.”  
   
Tavros can’t do anything but sit there in disbelief, his hands still gripping the wheelchair tightly as if Dave might suddenly try and yank it out from under him again.  For some reason it occurs to him that they’ve really fallen a long way from where they were when they started.  A couple of broke-ass young adults with no plans for the future, just trying to get by, fresh out of years in school passing notes and going on clandestine dates when they thought no one was watching.  They were inseparable. After the end of that horrible game trolls came to Earth and even if it was—and still is—a huge mess, both sides were able to organize a compromise.  They promised they’d stick together through all the bullshit to make this work because that was what they wanted, and now here they are, a handful of years later, on the brink of a rift all because Tavros doesn’t want to get in the car with a drunk driver.  Everything is so different.  It’s nothing like it used to be.  Like it _should_ be.  
   
He looks down and shakes his head, stubborn, but mostly just sad.  Sad because if Dave is serious then this is the end and he doesn’t _want_ it to be, despite how bad things have gotten.  He loves Dave; he’s always had hope deep down that things would be okay again.  Somehow.  Sometimes he gets a feeling from Dave like he wants this to work too and it isn’t as though they _always_ fight, it isn’t _always_ bad, but it’s definitely gone sour and maybe now it’s time for him to realize that nothing is going to change that.  
   
Maybe this is just the final straw.  
   
Dave makes a sound like a growl and tries to force Tavros out of his chair again and he goes from passive and upset to growling right back at him.  He holds his ground, spies the car keys in Dave’s hand and snatches them away.  “Give them back,” Dave insists, snatching at them but missing by a mile.  “Give me the fucking keys and just get in the car.  Why do you have to make this so fucking difficult?”  
   
Tavros hesitates.  It would be easier to just give in and let him have his way.  He wouldn’t like it but at least he could avoid all of this.  But something is different inside and he’s just not having it.  He glares at Dave and very pointedly throws the keys up onto the roof.  “Get them yourself, if, you want them.  I’m, going to call Gamzee.”  His voice quavers as he wheels himself back into the house, slamming the door shut behind him.  After a few moments (moments where he desperately hopes, for a change, that Dave will come after him and maybe this can still be sorted out), he hears the loud clattering of someone trying to climb up the storm drain and then swearing heavily as they fall back down into the hedges.  
   
He sighs and picks up the phone.  
   
   
   
   
That was ages ago.  Nearly ten years ago his ex-matesprit made him an offer he couldn't help but refuse. Get in the car with him or he was going. Leaving.  _Gone_. The finality of it struck him hard, shook him to his core, and he  _almost_  agreed. He almost unhooked the breaks and handed the keys over.

In the end, though, he made his choice. Threw Dave's keys up into the storm drain and went into the house, gathered what he couldn't possibly leave behind and called Gamzee to come get him. His friend showed up at quarter to four in the morning, fuming not at him but at his shitty matesprit (not yet former, that came  _later_  when it was made clear what Dave's feelings on the matter were), helped him into the car with gentleness that Dave no longer had and left their house behind in a shriek of squealing tires and burnt rubber. 

Aradia gathered his things for him and helped him settle into the highblood's sprawling hive. He didn't go home again, avoided that street, turned the TV off when Dave's shows came on and the radio in his car never left classic country. He lived with Gamzee until he bounced back, couldn't stay on his hospitality and endure the red feelings that he could never reciprocate, and built his life back up around him, slowly but surely.

It was hard and only grew harder as the years went on, but he could never complain. The tiny two-bedroom apartment that he and Aradia shared in the lowblood district left much to be desired in the face of wheelchair accessibility and space, but that was nothing. He never wanted for much, Gamzee looked out for him and paid for their medical bills and the expenses they couldn't hope to afford, and Aradia was there when he needed a shoulder.

Then Aradia was gone. 

It hadn't been a shock. They were both quite old for lowbloods, they'd both been slowing down and finding the simpler things harder. She was thirty-two when he'd come home to find the apartment too quiet. Still, it had been a hard blow. The corpse-party was small and scarcely noted in the papers. 

After that, getting around was difficult even at the best of times. Most days were spent in the apartment, trolling the friends who weren't too busy or dead to shoot the breeze and caring for the animals he'd accumulated over the years. Pet-sitting and training from home was an excellent source of income. 

The numbers of the people he cared for thinned as fellow lowbloods got older and died off. Troll rights were getting better, slowly, but Tavros could personally attest to losing a few friends to archaic culling practices and poor care. He never went himself; weathered every cold, scrape and other illness in the comfort of his own home. It was almost like being a child on Alternia again.  
   
In contrast, Dave's life since the breakup had been nothing short of crazy and fast-paced. With nothing at home to hold him back, his career took off like a shot. He was hardly ever in the country, let alone at home, for a good ten or so years and, looking back, he's pretty sure almost every minute of them was spent drunk, high, or both, because he literally can't remember much of anything at all. His luck with other relationships was twenty times as bad as it ever was with Tavros—Dave being fast and easy and not the least bit interested in anyone's feelings (least of all his own) created drama between plenty of people and there were plenty of shrieking banshees, doors slammed in his face and games of he-said-she-said going on all around him. A lot of it was very public.

Dave didn't much care.

Things began to slow down as he approached his thirties, if only because the free-wheeling out of control lifestyle was getting tiresome after so long. He'd fallen out of contact with a lot of his friends, even John, Rose, and Jade, but every once in a while he had a free half-second to reply to their texts and let them know he wasn't dead. One day he found out that someone else was, though.

 _She died three weeks ago, Dave,_  Jade told him when he called her, confused by her text. What do you mean Aradia is gone, how can she be "gone," where did she go?  _there was a funeral—um, i mean, corpse party, but..._  but you weren't there, she means, and he knows it without her having to say so. They spend a few hours on the phone, with Jade explaining what happened to Aradia—and what happens to all trolls, something even she didn't know about for the longest time. Not until Karkat told her.  A troll’s lifespan is based on their age, and lowbloods have the shortest ones.  By a lot, compared to humans.  Do Rose and John know? _Yeah, they know._

So why didn't anyone tell  _me?_

 

After they get off the phone Dave sits down in his cushy swagpad to ruminate a little. His thoughts light on Tavros, who he hasn't spoken a word to in years. Not since his retarded little juggalo friend came over and knocked him out for antagonizing the poor kid, which Dave never really got around to feeling sorry about. In his eyes, it was never his fault. The friends he kept around agreed with him on it, so what use was there in thinking about it?

Now, he's not so sure.

He scrolls through the contacts on pesterchum mobile 4.5.9 and frowns. Pauses on AA and considers for a moment but can't bring himself to delete it. He still can't believe she's gone. AT is the one below it, with a big X over the icon. Still blocked, even all these years later. He remembers wanting to provoke Tavros into blocking him first but it didn't end up working out that way, somehow. After a good few moments of staring at the client, he selects "unblock."

_adiosToreador [AT] is online._

Dave has to get up and get himself a snack and a beer and paces around a little before he finally gets up enough nerve to send him a message.  
   
 **TG: hey**  
   
Grief isn't a thing that trolls are meant to feel for very long, but Tavros can't seem to shake it. Gamzee offers to have him move in but he can't, he just can't. She slept in that room and they watched TV on this couch, they were going to go to Disneyland—they had the funds saved up, they were going to be just like little kids again and see Indiana Jones and Peter Pan in the flesh, it was going to happen and now it wasn't. There was no point in going by himself and he'd just feel miserable while there.

The fourth Indiana Jones movie plays in the background—the Earth version; the troll rendition is too violent for him to stomach now, and he can remember her saying how she  _wished_  that she'd known about auditions because she could have played Indiana Jones' child were it not for trolls not yet having a solid place in American cinema, and her lack of acting talent, and the character being male.

God, he misses her.

Sollux calls every now and again but it isn't for terribly long. The yellow-blood was doing even worse than he was; his mutations were not kind to him as age wore on. They hadn't seen each other in person since the party and he wondered if they would again before Sollux passed. 

The ding of a user signing online catches him off guard. 

_turntechGodhead [tG] is online._

That  _can't_  be right. His bloodpusher stalls and suddenly he's short of breath, teeth biting into his lower lip hard enough for him to taste copper. Their last conversation had been so very far from pleasant, he could still remember Gamzee's thunderous expression when he'd somehow managed to spit the story out amid body-wracking sobs. 

His hands shake violently. He can't deal with this. Not now, not today, not ever.

 **AT: hEY,  
AT: i'M NOT IN THE MOOD, tO BE MADE FUN OF RIGHT NOW,**  
  
After he fires off the message Dave wanders away for a shower, not expecting an expedient reply. That and showers are calming, they've always been calming, nothing makes him feel better than a shower does these days (and you'd feel the same if you were as drunk, sweaty and covered in various bodily fluids as Dave often is). It gives him time to think on what to say, but after the first two minutes of being in there he gives up on thinking ahead and starts thinking back, instead.

Fifteen minutes later, he returns and there's a message blinking on his phone. Fuck. Okay.  Just. Okay, fuck. He takes an extra five or ten to get dried off and dresses before he answers.

 **TG: thats not what this is about  
TG: i heard about aradia  
TG: you ok**  
  
Oh, fuck. 

He can already feel the tears starting to build.  _Fuck_. He can already imagine Dave's friends there, ready for a good laugh. Make fun of the miserable lowblood, feel better about yourselves.  He scrubs his eyes and swallows hard.

** AT: nO, i'M NOT,  
AT: tHANK YOU FOR ASKING, **  
** TG: look **

No, no. Easy, Dave. He's not good at sounding gentle, a habit he's no doubt grown into on account of following a little too closely in his bro's footsteps. Bro was never any good at being nice, either. He sighs, takes a long sip of his beer, and tries again.

** TG: jade told me what happened  
TG: she told me everything  
TG: i didnt know dude i had no fucking idea nobody ever gave me any reason to think trolls werent normal just like everyone else other than being funny looking and talking in weird accents  
TG: i been going around this whole time just being stone cold wrong about shit and i just wanted to say sorry  
TG: about her  
TG: and the other stuff  
TG: thats all ok im not out to mess with you **  
** AT: ,,, **

He swallows hard, has to push the computer away and pause the move and swipe furiously at his eyes to keep them clear.

 **AT: i JUST CAME HOME,  
AT: aND SHE WAS THERE, eXCEPT,  
AT: sHE WASN'T,  
AT: sHE WAS GONE, tHERE WAS NOTHING i COULD DO,  
AT: i'M NOT OKAY, aND,   
AT: i DON'T KNOW IF i CAN TALK TO YOU RIGHT NOW,   
AT: i JUST,  
AT: fUCK,**  
  
God. He can almost hear Tavros saying it, that all-too-familiar way that he  _freaks out_  over things. Another rung higher on the guilt echeladder.

** TG: its ok  
TG: you dont have to talk to me i can go i was just **

Dang.

 **TG: im really sorry tavros**  
  
Tavros doesn't reply for a good, long while. Looks at the block button, idly considers pressing it, never having to face this again and deal with misplaced pity.  
 **AT: iT DOESN'T MATTER, aNYMORE,  
AT: iT WAS A LONG TIME AGO,**  
 **TG: yeah but i kinda meant more for like  
TG: well stuff other than that like not knowing you have**

Somehow saying "the lifespan of a dog" doesn't sound right.

** TG: you know **  
** AT: iT DOESN'T MATTER, **  
** AT: i'LL JUST STOP **  
** AT: ,,,,  
AT: i NEVER TOLD YOU, sO,  
AT: tHAT ISN'T YOUR FAULT, **  
** TG: why didnt you tell me  
TG: just out of curiosity **

It's hardly idle curiosity but how else is he supposed to put it without sounding like he's too invested in the subject?  
   
 **AT: bY THE TIME IT MATTERED, iT DIDN'T SEEM LIKE YOU WOULD CARE,**  
 **TG: dude its kind of a big deal  
TG: thats like not telling someone you have cancer  
TG: youre just casually dying like tomorrow or something and im just supposed to be like oh no big deal its just a part of life  
TG: hey wait a minute were only like middle aged something fishy is going on here  
TG: zoinks scooby we better hop back in the mystery machine cuz it looks like weve got another mystery to solve  
TG: how could this normal kid who never did nothin to anyone suddenly just bite it for no reason, looks like foul play to me  
TG: better line up the suspects  
TG: make a real crime show out of this  
TG: following all the wrong leads just like every single episode of all nine million episodes of law and order because none of the witnesses want to fess up to what really done it  
TG: thats just wrong**  
 **AT: i'M NOT DYING TOMORROW, oR,** **  
AT: tHE NEXT DAY,  
AT: i'VE GOT AT LEAST, fIVE MORE YEARS,  
AT: yOU WOULD HAVE NOTICED, wHEN THINGS STARTED TO GO WRONG,  
AT: yOU CAN SEE IT, hAPPENING,   
AT: iT'S NOT, aN OVERNIGHT THING,**  
 **TG: five years what the fuck**

He's not sure what he's mad at, but he has to take a nice long step back here, leaving his phone on the arm of the chair and taking his beer out onto the balcony for some air.

He projected a lot of his problems onto Tavros back when they were together, but he hasn't forgotten about what it was like before that. It was actually pretty good, if his booze-addled recollections are anything to go by. Way better than the way things have been here lately, anyway. Either way, Tavros is a good kid. He was just—too good for Dave.

After a ten minute break he comes back again.

** TG: what have you been doing this whole time anyway **  
** AT: lIVING WITH aRADIA,   
AT: wE, i MEAN,  
AT: i, hAVE AN APARTMENT, iN DISTRICT 4, **

Four isn't the worst of the lowblooded districts. It's better, roughly on the status of an above-average yellowblood. Pretty good for the rustiest blood colors possible. Alternian-born trolls were under the jurisdiction of the Empress if they had no out-of Alternia connections, connections to highbloods, or government jobs. It was notoriously hard to make the move from in-district living to out of it, the Earth government wanted nothing to do with potentially dangerous adult trolls and the Alternian government didn't want them getting any ideas. District life wasn't  _all_ bad, it was better to be surrounded by their own kind than by humans, when killing trolls wasn't a big deal to police and hospitals were more liable to cull than save.

He and Aradia could have lived a better life, he knows, but neither wanted to feel the heavy weight of debt to a higher blood caste on their shoulders again, not when the concept of  _owning_  lower bloods wasn't entirely dispelled in modern society. District Four was okay.

It's still not particularly good and known for its reputation of overcrowding, barely passable housing and crime. Trolls with psychic powers were crowded into these districts, rumors of the government doping the water to keep their powers dumbed down spread like wildfire and even Tavros wasn't sure it was wise to discredit them entirely. His communing ability didn't reach as far as it used to, but that may simply have been his age catching up to him.

He doesn't want to talk about Disneyworld or training animals, or how they were almost-maybe officially pale and how neither of them really wanted or needed a kismesis or a matesprit at this point in their lives.  
   
Good god, though, Dave had made nasty remarks toward the end of their relationship about how Tavros would be nothing and nowhere without someone to take care of him, and he guesses he must have been right. But that doesn't mean he wanted it, he never  _wanted_  Tavros to suffer, just—

He takes a second to think on this, slowly rubbing the back of his neck and swallowing as if the bad feelings are creeping up from the pit of his stomach. If he wasn't as sober as he is he'd think he was about to puke.

** TG: nice **

Not really but he's not going to say dang that sucks what a shitty place to wind up, because it's not as bad as some of the places he's heard of from his friends. Hell, he's even seen some of the worse areas with his own eyes and he couldn't help thinking they were more like concentration camps than troll slums, even as he was laughing with his buddies and lunging at scared trolls watching them from the filthy sidewalks just to scare them off.

** TG: i thought you were staying with that other guy **  
** AT: yOU MEAN gAMZEE? nO, i,  
AT: oNLY STAYED WITH HIM, fOR A FEW MONTHS,  
AT: i DIDN'T WANT TO BE, a BURDEN, **

Even if Gamzee now pays for whatever he can't afford, and that list is growing. No one wants to hire a brownblood, let alone a cripple. Training animals only works so well when there are ample animals to train and the time and energy to do it. Tavros leans back against the cushions and strokes the head of the nearest Fiduspawn, heaving a quiet sigh.  
   
 **TG: funny i wouldve thought you would stay longer  
TG: i mean based on the telling off he gave me i figured it was a pretty done deal with you two**

Which was what ultimately led Dave to block Tavros once and for all, since after he came back from the hospital with stitches on his face the very sight of his username was enough to send him into a rage. If not for the beating he'd taken he wouldn't have been able to resist provoking him about it.

_So that's how it is, huh._

He never bothered to listen to any arguments toward the contrary, from Aradia or any of his friends. As far as he was concerned, they could have their happy stupid life together because he had better things to do than be jealous over a dumb troll.  
   
 **AT: whAT,**

It takes a minute.

** AT: gAMZEE AND i WERE NEVER LIKE THAT,   
AT: eVER,   
AT: i REJECTED HIS FLUSHED ADVANCES, wHEN WE WERE *SIX*, **  
** TG: i dunno dude its just what he told me  
TG: and by told me i mean kind of slurred in the general direction of my face along with some spit a knife and a baseball bat  
TG: anyway its whatever that was like a century ago and we are like all hells out of date on each others lives so yeah **

A likely story. He's surprised he still has any room to be bitter about it.  It must be because of the scars that are still faintly, faintly visible.  Couldn’t be anything else.  
   
 **AT: hE'S MY BEST FRIEND, aND,  
AT: hE'S BEEN HELPING ME, gET OVER EVERYTHING,  
AT: hE'S THE ONLY ONE, tHAT HAS ALWAYS BEEN THERE,**

He's surprised at how offended he is over this.

** AT: i NEVER ACCUSED YOU, oF COMMITTING QUADRANT INFIDELITY WITH jOHN, oR,  
bEING UNFAITHFUL EVER, aCTUALLY, eVEN IF YOU WERE NEVER HOME,  
AT: aND,  
AT: yOU JUST ASSUMED, tHAT tHAT'S WHAT i WAS DOING?  
AT: jESUS cHRIST, dAVE, **  
** TG: whoa okay just bite my head off over it that works too  
TG: im just saying i dont know what you expected me to think since you went running off with the guy as soon as i said i was leaving and then next thing i know he comes kicking down my front door to defend your precious honor or whatever  
TG: like i aint saying you were getting it on the side or whatever but he pretty much flat out called you his and theres no way you couldnt have known about it so it sounded pretty clear to me  
TG: but like i said its ancient history and i honestly dont give a crap what you were doing and with who  
TG: if you werent thats good to know sure wouldve been handy like six years ago or something but either way we are pretty much past that stage of shit-giving in each others lives  
TG: also dude  
TG: john???  
TG: are you serious come on  
TG: hes married  
TG: but whatever jesus the point is  
TG: i dont want to fight with you tav thats not what i messaged you for  
TG: i fought with you for like half of our forever long relationship and i kinda just want to make our peace over it because i just found out youre dying in five years and i feel like shit about it  
TG: like mega shit about it but theres nothing i can do to make up for what happened before and theres nothing you can do to make up for what happened before so basically we just gotta flush it and start over  
TG: cause it would pretty much eat me up inside if i didnt do it while i got the chance  
TG: and im sorry i didnt do it sooner but god damn dude shit seems a whole lot less petty when you realize theres bigger shit that makes it all mean nothing  
TG: and if thats not a good enough reason for you then i dont know why were even talking at all  
TG: so **

Yeah that is... way more than he meant to say all in one sitting. He starts to backspace it all but then just says "fuck it" and hits enter without reading it over.

 **TG: so yeah**  
 **AT: dAVE, MY MOIRAIL JUST DIED,** **  
AT: aND YOU'RE DUMPING ALL OF THIS ON ME, aND,  
AT: tELLING ME THINGS LIKE, i SHOULD HAVE KNOWN WHEN i DIDN'T,  
AT: i FORGIVE YOU, i CAN'T REALLY,  
AT: dO ANYTHING MORE AT THIS POINT,**  
 **TG: ok fair enough and ill throw another apology on the pile for complicating shit  
TG: definitely wasnt the plan when i messaged you out of nowhere but i got a habit of not sticking by the book  
TG: ill leave you alone if you want so you can have some time to feel better and everything  
TG: we can catch up later**  
 **AT: i DON'T REALLY WANT TO BE ALONE RIGHT NOW,**  
  
Dave chugs the last of his beer and tosses the can over his shoulder.

 **TG: we could go out somewhere  
TG: grab lunch or something if you want  
TG: i got time**  
 **AT: oKAY,** **  
AT: i CAN'T GO, vERY FAR BEYOND THE DISTRICT,**  
 **TG: why not**  
 **AT: gETTING BACK WILL BE, tOO HARD,**  
 **TG: i can take you back its cool  
TG: i got a pass for the districts so we just gotta make curfew and well be golden**  
  
Just like the good ol' days.  
   
 **AT: oKAY,** **  
AT: wHERE DO YOU WANT TO GO,**  
 **TG: i dunno something not assfuckingly expensive that doesnt have a bar and isnt shitty or outback steakhouse  
TG: so like  
TG: olive garden i guess**

A place he never goes to ever and never frequented in the first place. Let's just keep this simple.  
   
 **AT: oLIVE GARDEN SOUNDS GOOD,**  
 **TG: ok cool  
TG: want me to pick you up**  
 **AT: tHAT MIGHT, bE FASTER,  
AT: mY COMMUNAL HIVE, iS ON THE SOUTH END, sO, uH,**

Getting there would take hours.  
   
 **TG: so i should probably hurry up is what youre saying**

Welp. Good thing he showered already, and good thing this isn't a, you know, big deal or anything, so it's not like he needs to dress up for anything.  _Fuck_.  He takes his phone with him to his room and starts pawing through his drawers for a better outfit.  
   
 **AT: uHH, nOT EXACTLY BUT,  
AT: uH,  
AT: hERE'S MY ADDRESS,**

He just punches it in and then goes to clean himself up for the first time in a few days. The apartment is a mess and so getting to the bathroom is a feat in itself.  
   
After twenty minutes of fruitless wardrobe changes Dave finally settles on basically the same thing he was wearing, only these jeans make what little of an ass he has look awesome and this shirt is awesome and he's actually pretty sure there are copies of it circulating around department stores and shit last time he heard (middle class white bitches just can’t get enough of his style, clearly).

He hops in the car after letting Tavros know he'll be there soon and then fucks with his hair in the rear view mirror the entire way, pushes his shades up and then tilts them back down again until they're at just the right angle and only actually thinks to wonder how he's going to fit the wheelchair in the back until he's practically already there. One of the last things he did after they split was sell the car they compromised on to buy his long-desired two-door sports car.

...maybe it'll fit in the trunk. He got three boxes of records to fit in there one time, after all. Totally the same thing.

For once he doesn't pay much attention to what's on the radio ( _just gonna stand there and watch me burn, that's alright because i like the way it hurts_ ) because while he's the picture of calm behind the wheel, his mind is kind of racing. This is definitely not what he planned on when he IMed Tavros. Far from it. It's basically the opposite of what he planned on.

So then why is he so excited when he finally pulls up outside Tavros' hive? He almost can't breathe.

 **TG: hey im out front**  
  
It takes Tavros a while to get downstairs, every time without fail. The elevator is often broken and so that leaves him the option of trying to get down, step by step, without hurting himself or breaking the chair, which takes patience and a lot of careful maneuvering without someone to help. As soon as he's showered and changed, he gets down. 

The younger trolls are thrilled by the sight of the car, watching from inside because that's a  _human_  and some even recognize the shades. Excitement for some is disgust for others.  How  _dare_  that filthy candyblood come here? How  _dare_  he parade his success around?  The hivestem is abuzz with excited chatter as he carefully wheels out, head down and breathing stalled in an effort to maintain his cool and ignore the questions and accusations flying at him from all sides.

They don't dare step outside though. 

The years have been kind to him, at least. Tavros doesn't look a day over twenty-five, but the dark circles under his eyes and the stiff way he moves betray his true age. His mohawk is longer and not as carefully styled. He's not quite as fit as he once was, but he's far from out of shape. 

He's not sure what to say. Catches his lip between his teeth and looks everywhere but Dave, wonders if this was a mistake.  
   
“Uh, hey.”  
   
Dang. After the first glimpse Dave has to make a point of looking away, too, which is a lot easier to do when he has shades to disguise the direction his eyes are pointed. It's not what he expected to see at all, he was expecting an old and gray-haired troll to come rolling out, not the same fine-lookin' tool of an alien he had the hots for however many years ago.

If not for how tired he looks, Dave might almost have cause to be jealous. He aged marvelously, the spitting image of his Bro and still as slick as ever, but he never managed to stop being scrawny. Lots of working out to keep the weight of all his drinking off gave him some decent muscle but standing next to Tavros, he just looks rail thin. More than he did before, even.

“Sup? I was thinkin' we could cram the chair in the trunk. It'll probably fit if I put the back seats down.”

He leans on the open door of the driver's side and reaches to hit the button under the steering wheel that will pop the trunk, heedless to all the eyes on him. He's so used to constant attention that it doesn't even occur him to look around.  
   
The car's design strikes Tavros as pointless rather than sleek but he holds his tongue, forces a smile and nods.  “It should probably, fit,” he says,  but he can't deny he's nervous that a fight may break out and he might not get it  _back_.

It's stupid to be so fearful. He just can't shake it. His last memory of Dave is of that night and the following days, of every nasty word and insult flung at him. After hearing snippets of him on the news, the gossip, the rumors, he can't help but feel apprehensive about getting anywhere near him, let alone in a car with him. All eyes are on him and he wants nothing more than to curl into a ball and vanish.

Carefully, he opens the door. This isn't going to be a comfortable ride. The car is so expensive; he's going to have to be mindful of his horns. Carefully, he pulls himself out of the chair and into the seat. His arms are shaking with the effort and he almost falls, but manages it, leaning back against the seat and huffing out a breath before leaning over to neatly fold up the chair. 

There. Now all Dave has to do is put it away. 

He settles for looking at his hands in his lap this time.  
   
Dave watches uneasily as Tavros moves into the car, but it's more the troll's safety than that of his car that he's worried about. He's right about to step in and offer to help when Tavros finally makes into the seat and he exhales quietly, taking the folded up chair to play trunk Tetris.

It involves a lot of racket, whatever it is he's moving around back there, but eventually he returns and gives the thumbs up, swinging his way into the driver's seat and shutting the door. Cool and casual as can be without a single parting glance to all the trolls watching as he pulls away from the curb and drives away.

It's  _not_  easy acting this relaxed.

“Fit easier than I thought it would. This thing's basically pointless for carrying anything other than people who never eat, which is why I don't take it to shows. That and the last time I did someone caught their stiletto in the leather and fucked up the seats.”

And she wasn't even a good lay. ...right, uh. Better smalltalk.

“—So, uh, you look pretty good for being troll ancient.”  
   
There's no reason to feel jealous and bitter over that. Come on, Tavbro. You haven't been with this guy for sweeps.

“Thank you?”  Fuck, don't make that a question. Ugh.  “It's, uh, it's, my internal organs, that wear are wearing out. Not, my physique.”  Talking about his mortality seems somehow easier than anything else.  
   
“Oh.”

Well that's... ah. Dave frowns, faintly itching for a cigarette at the thought of it. Probably best not to smoke around Tavros, he figures. He never liked that stuff in the first place, now it might just up and kill him.

“Doesn't that—hurt?”  
   
“It, varies.”  He scratches the side of his head, tilting his head carefully to look out the window.  “It mostly just leaves me, kind of tired.”  
   
Dave’s eyes flick over to Tavros, then back at the road.

“That's pretty fucked up.”  
   
He picks at a hole in his pantleg.  “That's, uh, life.”   
   
“I guess. Nice guys like you get shit on and assholes like your dumb highblood friends get to go on being assholes. “

Except maybe Fef, the only non-asshole highblood Dave knows of.  And the last time he paid any attention to troll politics at all was a decade ago.  
   
“Nice guys, finish last, don't they say?”  The troll snorts a little.  “I don't really, want to talk about this anymore, if that's okay.”  
   
“Yeah, sure.”

Dave falls silent, trying to come up with another topic. Before, you couldn't shut the two of them up, whether it was to gush at each other or to fight. Now he can hardly think of what to say at all. And they're supposed to sit through lunch together.

Anything he can think to say sounds stupid so he just lets the radio fill the silence for the moment, getting lost in thoughts of Tavros withering away from the inside. What an awful way to go.  
   
This was a mistake, Tavros thinks.  He'll eat and go home and pretend this never happened. It's not a big deal, anyway. It's not like he expected things to be normal and okay between them considering how they parted ways, and at least Dave doesn't reek of alcohol this time.  
   
He could offer help.  It feels like a respectable thing to do, at least until he thinks about what it would sound like to Tavros. If  _he_  were sick and someone who had the means was offering  _him_  help he'd turn them down in a hot minute because he wouldn't want the charity, wouldn't want to seem pathetic and like he needs someone else to survive.

This is so awkward. Trying to seem like it's not getting to him at all is beginning to wear on him, so he blindly fishes for a subject, any subject, to talk about.

“So what do you do all day? Y'know, for fun.”  
   
“Oh, uh...” Picking at his pants again.  “I mostly, play Fiduspawn and, uh, watch movies. Sometimes, I attend slam sessions, but uh...”  Only when he can get out. 

Seated in this car next to Dave talking about the childish things he does? Not a good feeling.  
   
There’s a faint snort from Dave, just a little on the teasing side.

“I saw a couple kids the other day arguing over whether Pokemon or Fiduspawn was better. I told 'em Fiduspawn was better, 'cause it's less cute fluffy crap and more monsters actually beating the crap out of each other, which is what we're all here to see. Still can't believe either one is still around though. They're both old as hell.”  
   
“And Fiduspawn are actually, real. I mean, I don't really like them fighting, but, they're real as opposed to fake, like, Pokemon are. I have some rare breeds, thanks to uh, a friend.”  
   
“Wait, real ones?”  
   
“Yeah.”  
   
“No shit.”  Dave’s eyebrows raise, interested.  “I've never actually seen one in the flesh before.”  
   
“They aren't allowed outside the districts, so, that's not surprising. I've got, uh, Horsoroni, and Dogzbra, and a few small dragon types.”  
   
“I'll have to come check 'em out sometime.”

As awkward as it would be to go and hang out at Tavros' house. It was always really weird when they were kids, before they lived together, but back then he didn't care all that much about how bad the place was. He only had his mind on one thing.

He can't help grinning a little as he pulls into the parking lot at Olive Garden and steals a handicap spot. Nobody can say shit because he's got a dude in a wheelchair  _right here_ , okay.  
   
“Uh...”  Dave, actually in his building...?  “Sure, if you want to.”  
   
“Yeah, why not.”  Uh.  “I mean, when it's less talking-to-your-ex-again weird and whatever.”

Social graces, what are they. Dave pops the trunk and hops out to fetch the wheelchair, unfolding it and bringing it over to the passenger side.  
   
“Yeah, sure.”  
Getting out is considerably trickier than getting in.  Dave's no stranger to helping him in and out, even if it has been awhile. After a pause he reaches out to carefully help Tavros into his wheelchair, remembering only at the last second to remember to duck under the horn when he nearly gets gored.  It's necessary contact, he tells himself, and there is no reason whatsoever to think of it as anything other than that, no matter how awkwardly impersonal it sort of is to be pretty much manhandling your ex. It's just business. No big deal.

Sometimes Dave wonders if he doesn't have a bit of a one-track mind.  
   
It's weird to feel Dave's hands on him again; even if it's in no way  _sexual_  it's still just a strange feeling. He gives a little nod once he's settled and lets his hands fall to his wheels.

“Shall we?”  
   
“Yep.”  Dave heads off first, hopping the three stairs next to the ramp in one jump and holding the door open by way of standing against the door and walking backwards. Nobody says you can't be a gentleman and still be the picture of not giving a fuck.  
   
Tavros is the picture of calm and collected, only not really at all. He wheels through the door carefully, needing to tilt his head just so, so it doesn't scratch the door and smiles politely at the waitress who does little to hide her shock and awe at the man in the doorway.  
   
Not uncommon, and Dave reacts as if it happens every day (it kind of does), following Tavros in and then glancing from the waitress to the troll and then raising one eyebrow. “It's not nice to stare, you know. He's self-conscious,” he says, putting a hand on the handle of the wheelchair as if to give it a reassuring pat.

The waitress balks and starts to explain herself but ultimately decides against it and gathers two menus, leading them to a table by the window. The best seat she has to offer, she says, and drags one of the chairs away so Tavros can wheel up to it. Dave doesn't thank her. He just sits, expressionless.

“Look at that, dude. You're like a celebrity. They can't stop checking you out.”  
   
“I could do without the attention.”  Tavros pulls a menu over to him to glance over it, and instead of picking up his own, Dave reads the back of Tavros’.  Shit, they do have a bar here after all. A nerve in his jaw twitches a little and he disappears behind his own menu to search for an alternative.

Apple juice. That will work nicely.

“What, you don't want a whole room full of people thinking you're hot? God's gift to the earth right here, all you have to do is exist.”  
   
“They don't think that, and, I don't. I would just rather, one person, think that I'm attractive, than hundreds.”  
   
“Well, maybe one out of that hundred does.”

Chin in hand. What goes good with apple juice? Everything, that's what. Dave flips indecisively through the pages, deciding only that since they're there, they have to get breadsticks.  There’s an awkward silence on Tavros’ end, but Dave doesn’t look up.  Awkward silences are normal.  
   
“Maybe. I'm, too old to be looking for that, though.”  
   
“Tch, you can never be too old for that. —D'you know what you're getting? Cause I can pretty much just live off the breadsticks.”

Dave Strider and his world-famous missing appetite.  
   
“Yes, you can. It wouldn't be fair to the other person, if, I was in a relationship, uh, given the circumstances.” Tavros clears his throat and frowns over the top of his menu, shutting it gently and putting it down. “The spaghetti.  You should probably, eat more, than just the breadsticks...”  
   
“I'll steal a couple of your noodles or something.”  
And conveniently the waitress arrives, Dave orders his apple juice and a basket of the infamously bad breadsticks.  
   
“Okay.”  Tavros just settles for some milk and spaghetti, drumming his fingers against the tabletop.  “So, uh... how has your career, been?”  
   
“Pretty intense. I actually just got back from a trip in Sydney; that was the last tour for a few months. Some shit went down with staffing, drama got out more out of control than the plotline to literally any movie on Lifetime. Sounded like break time to me.”

The actual story behind his break had been highly publicized, of course, and was nothing short of a circus. one of the guys in Dave's crew set out to hurt him in a fit of jealousy over his popularity and used everything in the book to do it—friends who weren't really friends, girls that would only break his heart. In the end it had caused a rift in the group and most of them sided with the other guy. It was only thanks to his genius of a manager that it didn't get worse when he suggested a hiatus rather than getting back at him like Dave had wanted.

It killed off a lot of the media insanity, at the cost of his popularity dwindling for a few months while the other guy snapped up the opportunity in his absence. Just thinking about it makes him glower a little at the table.

“So now I get to stay at home and take up hobbies like sewing little jackets for small dogs and stuff like that.”  
   
“I'm sorry. “  Tavros had heard snippets and gossip, but nothing concrete. Avoiding anything that reminded him of his ex had simply seemed like the best course of action. His friends were wise enough to keep quiet on the subject when Tavros was within earshot. It was the most respectable thing to do, and talking about Dave when Gamzee was within earshot was a surefire way to turn a pleasant afternoon into an uncomfortable hour.  “It's not so bad, being home.”  
   
“Can't say I couldn't use the rest, anyway.”

Long nights of partying, traveling and working had started to leave him looking washed-out and sallow. He met up with John on his way home to hang out and John had actually been alarmed by the sight of him, so they spent a few days at his Dad's, eating as much as humanly possible. Dave was only allowed to leave once he looked less dead.

“Nothing like coming off the frantic teacup ride of churning out beats all over the planet than binge-eating frosted animal crackers and watching reruns of Friends for two weeks straight.”  He's glad when the waitress arrives with their drinks, because he'd really like to have something to do with his hands and messing with his straw seems like a good bet.  “Been catching up with friends of the not-Jennifer-Aniston-in-her-underwear variety, too.”  
   
“That's good.”  Except truthfully, Tavros isn’t sure he can call them  _friends_  yet.  “Jade's kept in touch, and, tells me all about her exploits in, fighting the man and, freeing the common troll. And, uh, I talk to Rose sometimes... I know her new book is set to come out soon.  She offered to, mail me an autographed copy, since I assisted her with the slam poetry and, cultural accuracies.”  
   
“Oh yeah, huh. Looks like you just got all the broads on your arm, dude.”

Meanwhile Dave had barely spoken to any of them in ages.  He didn't even know rose  _had_  a new book coming out.

“I heard from a certain keeper of secrets that you might be having the justice police sniffing around your place soon, too. And probably licking while she's at it. She climbed in through my window the night I got back in town and said she was going to drop in on everyone in the area before she heads back to wherever the hell it is she lives these days.”  
   
“That sounds nice. I haven't seen Terezi since, uh…”  The corpse party. He rubs the back of his neck.  “It's been a while, in the very least.”  
   
“Feels like we couldn't even get rid of each other not that long ago.”

Now they can scarcely make the time for visits at all. Growing up sure is a thing.  
   
“Things change. I know she's, been busy. I have a hard time seeing, Gamzee sometimes, given how often they want him at the capitol.”  
   
It takes considerable effort for Dave not to make a face when Gamzee is mentioned—in the end, he fails to make it happen and that annoyed little wrinkle between his eyebrows shows up.

He still has a scar.

“Everybody's got shit to do, I guess.”  
   
Ah... Right. That's a topic that he needs to broach. Tavros fiddles with his fork a little while, running his fingertip over the points.

“I didn't know. About, what he did, until it was too late. And, I had no idea, what he said, which he should have never said, because, I'm not his. That was a point, that I made clear when we were kids, and, one that he did not take very well at all, which is another story, but, so, uh...”  
   
Dave takes a nice loooong gulp of apple juice, bypassing the straw entirely. He sets the glass down and allows a very poignant silence to settle between them before he replies. Just for effect.

“I know, Tav. I mean I know now. Probably knew then, too, but I wanted a good excuse to blame something else on you, and that was it. Maybe we coulda worked it out if it weren't for that, but it probably would've just been the same old Springer shit day in and day out until we ended up dead. You're a lot better off nobody's than his or mine.”  
   
“I'd imagine, it would have been more of the same.  We had, some good years.”  
   
“Yeah. We did.”  Dave’s the one fidgeting, wiggling his straw around in the glass with his eyes down.  “Really good years.”  
   
A swig of his water, Tavros strokes a hand along the arm of his chair.  “Yeah. I...” Fuck.  “I think, that, in the long run it was for the best.”  
   
Probably.  
   
“I'm not really—y'know, cut out for being serious.”

He got awfully close, though, just once.  The media had a field day about it and the pressure was way too much for the guy he was seeing. He didn't even get a text breakup for that one; he just disappeared.

“'specially not once I started going global, you would've just been even more…”  Needy.  “Lonely.”  
   
Not that he isn't now. “Aradia and I, we, uh, we kept each other company, so, it was good... Better, I mean. Than it was before. And I would have just, held you back.”  
   
“Yeah. Sucks, I guess, but that's how it goes in Days of Our Interspecies Dating.”

Yet nothing's ever been quite right since, personal matters or otherwise.  
It's a shame, that.

Along comes the waitress with the spaghetti and breadsticks, not lingering after she delivers the food because even she can sense a tense moment and that Strider guy is just too intimidating to talk to ( _no idea how that gross troll guy does it, hey, isn't he the one from way back in the day when Stridenasty was still indie, yeah, I think it is, it's kind of hard to tell though, they all look the same to me, hahaha_ ).  
   
Xenophobic bitch or not, he still takes the time to thank her and mumble a short-formed grace before he digs in. It's only after she's gone that he speaks up, one big hand half-shielding his face.

“I feel better, in the District anyway.”  
   
Dave cracks open a breadstick and picks the fluff out of the middle, leaving the outside. So what if he eats like a bird.  “'Cause nobody messes with you.”  
   
“That's actually not accurate to say, but it is still better than, being out here.”  
   
“You can't just hide from it all the time, dude. People are gonna be dicks no matter what, shutting yourself up and never going outside is just giving 'em room to keep doing it.”  
   
“It's also, keeping me safe from culling enthusiasts and, the more violent, xenophobes or, blue supremacists, that make rounds, around the Districts, late at night when most trolls are coming home from work. It's not, as simple for us as it is for you, Dave. Troll society isn't like, human society.”  
   
“I know, but still.”

Once he's completely hollowed out half the breadstick Dave steals a little spaghetti and crams it into what's left, wolfs down the entire thing, and deems himself finished. for awhile.

“I'm just saying, we don't get that kind of thing in decent neighborhoods out here—and I know that's not because there aren't any of your kind living in them. Those places are like, breeding grounds for troll tragedy. It's not right.”  
   
“No, it's not. But, it's what we have, and, for most of us it's better than, the alternative.”  
   
“So how can you say you like it better that way? Pretty backwards, dude.”  
   
“I can't legally live outside the District. And the alternative for me, would have been going back to Alternia. Where, I would have been culled, because I can't contribute to the filial pails or enter the military. Not to mention that, nowhere outside the districts are willing to hire a troll, let along, an old, crippled one.”  Tavros just keeps eating, his expression a little flat.  
   
“I'd hire you. My manager would probably punch me in the face, but I'm just saying. Kinda blows your "no one will hire me" theory out of the water.”

Arguing just for the sake of being right. He begins slowly mangling another breadstick, ripping it into tiny bite-sized pieces and manually removing all the crust.  
   
“I'd have to leave my pets, if I moved,” the troll retorts, which makes Dave pause thoughtfully in search of a comeback.  
   
“Yeah, okay. I'm not even sure you can buy your way into letting those things into human neighborhoods.”  
   
“I'm okay, where I am, Dave.  Even when we were, together, the neighbors were not nearly as nice to me, as they were to you. I'm okay, with my own kind now.”  
   
“You're okay with pretty much everything, including shit being as shitty as humanly possible, pardon my speciesist euphemism. It's not like now that we've talked for five minutes and had three whole bites of food in the same room we should move back in together and start getting all invested in each other's lives or anything. I'm just not as okay with seeing you settle and live like crap for the last two seconds on the planet you have left as you are, I guess.”

Once again, that’s more than he meant to say in one sitting. He compensates by chewing voraciously at one end of quite possibly the rock-hardest breadstick he's ever encountered.  
   
“Then what exactly do you suggest? I don't have, the means to get out of the district. And, I can't do much work. No matter what you hire me for.”  
   
Dave shrugs.  “I dunno. Nothing, I guess. I'm just outraged for the hell of it.”  
   
Tavros starts to speak, hesitates, then shakes his head and takes another forkful of spaghetti.  “It doesn't matter.”  
   
“It matters. Maybe it's not my place to give a shit, but it still matters.”  After two and a half breadsticks, Dave is done eating and rests his elbows on the table.  
   
“Maybe I can find a way out. There's just, so much,  _fucking_  legal tape.”  
   
“If you want to, man. You can stay there cozy in your shell if it really suits you, but you shouldn't have to die in it.”  
   
“Stop, doing that.”  
   
“Doing what.”  
   
“That. Uh, talking down, to me.”  
   
“I'm not talking down to you.”  
   
“Do you know what, talking down sounds like?   Sorry, I just—you’re talking about, all of these big changes, and I don't have the means to make them. And, being rude, about where I live, and comfort zones, is not going to change that.”  
   
“Okay, okay.”

It feels quieter around them than it was before and Dave’s eyes instinctively light on the people nearby. At the servers, at anyone standing outside the window they're seated next to. They're listening. Someone is always listening.

He worries for the attention that might suddenly be focused on Tavros. This was a bad idea, coming out in public like this.

“Shit. I'm sorry, Tav.”  
   
“It's fine, it's...”  His outburst done, he notices the damage he's done. He covers his face with his hands, catches himself and drops his hands to his wheels.

“Sorry, I'll just, pay, and go.”  
   
“No, I got it. It's my bad, this—happens.”

He just gets up from the table, fishing for his wallet and goes to find the waitress himself, not bothering to finish that poorly-constructed thought. This happens, this always happens. It's why nothing he does with anyone can just stay simple. Dramatics follow him everywhere, as do the cameras and microphones. He should've _known_  better. If it were anything else he wouldn't care, but he feels an uncomfortable and unhappy tightening in his stomach as he crosses the restaurant to pay for the food.  
   
Tavros can hear their whispers and the starts of rumors already. Maybe the sound cue of a camera phone, a flash here and there. He swallows hard and starts wheeling to the doors, ducking around people as best he can with a quiet apology until he's back outside in breathable space.   
   
Fuck.  _Fuck_  and he's supposed to be on a break and things were supposed to settle down. Of all the ways to make it worse, it had to be with Tavros. Literally the single least deserving of bullshit person he knows.

Fuck.

Dave doesn't feel any better once he gets outside, moving quickly to the car and unlocking the doors. Let's just go, let's just get the hell out of here and maybe we'll get lucky and nothing will happen. When he turns to pop the trunk, his face is red, lips pursed in a thin line.  
   
“Dave?”  It's been a while since he'd seen Dave flustered in any way. Not since the earlier days of their relationship, before everything got out of control. It's been a while, but he knows the cues. 

He carefully hauls himself out of his chair and into the seat, buckles himself in and gets ready for a ride.  The cue to respond goes ignore until the wheelchair is stowed away and the car door is closed.  Then Dave lets out a slow, deliberate sigh. As much as he’d just like to silently start the engine and get the hell out of dodge, he figures he should probably say something.  
   
“I never should've invited you out. I didn't want you to get caught up in this, I thought it would be fine.”  
   
“I asked for the company. It's, okay. I don't mind.”  At least he won't mind until reporters start banging on his door in the early daylight hours, waking everyone in the communal hive in search of a scoop.  
   
Dave just shakes his head and starts the car, pulls out of the parking lot and doesn't look back.  “You'll have company, alright. Hope you like having everything about you made public, no matter how irrelevant it is.”  
   
“Sorry.”  
   
“What are you apologizing for? Not your fault.”  
   
“I kind of, yelled at you.”  
   
A faint snort.

“You'd think considering the number of times I get screamed at and publicly slapped in the face and all that, they'd get really sick and tired of jumping on every little thing. But they always gotta know who I was fighting with and why, and whether we're together—and we always are, as far as they're concerned, because "no" is just another word for "yes and for your information we fuck every single day and twice on Sundays."  
   
“It sounds like, you've had a hard time.”  
   
“The worst. I can't make a relationship last five minutes, on the off chance that I actually want to, because of shit like this.”  He presses the cigarette lighter on the dash and then remembers he can't smoke around Tavros, swearing under his breath.  “Whatever, it's not me I'm worried about. They'll be on you like glitter on a vampire's dick and you didn't even  _do_ anything.”  
   
The troll manages a wry grin.  “I don't, leave my respiteblock very often so, they'll have a hard time, bothering me.”  
   
“Just... don't answer the door if anyone you're not expecting knocks, don't answer calls from numbers you don't know, and if anyone does manage to catch you, just lie. You don't even like me, we were just there to settle a professional debt or something. I owed you money, that's all.

They get bored of shit like that so fast it's not even funny.”  
   
He's done that for ten years, what's a few more?  “Okay.”  
   
“Cool.”

He doesn't feel like it's cool, but at least there's a game plan.

“Guess I probably shouldn't come over to see your alien monsters after all.”  
   
“Probably not… unless, you want to come see them, when you drop me off. My neighbors refuse, to speak to humans, so it won't really matter, all that much. If reporters show up, they'll chase them off.”  
   
Dave glances toward the dash clock.  “It's still early. I could probably get away with it...”  
   
“For old time's sake, if for nothing else.”  
   
“Yeah, okay.”  In spite of everything, Dave manages a faint grin.  “Can't really say no to that.”  
   
“Okay.”  Tavros smiles a little as well.  For a second, anyway.  “Good. I—oh _fuck_. It's a huge, fucking mess.”  
   
Dave laughs one of his quiet, rare laughs.  “It's cool, mine's a sty, too. I won't judge.”  
   
It’s the first time Tavros has smiled so much in weeks.  “I'll, hold you to that.”  
   
“Scout's honor, dude. You're entitled to one free punch if I say anything.”  And you can bet he won't because even the playful shoulder punches hurt like a bitch.  Tavros chuckles and looks out the window, bobbing his head in a nod.  
   
“Okay, that sounds fair.”  
   
It impresses Dave upon reflection that here they are, after something like a decade of not talking, driving in his car and laughing together. Maybe not buddy-buddy, everything is great and back to normal, teenagers that can't get enough of each other kind of laughing together, but it's. It's still a thing.

And to think that less than twenty-four hours ago he would've laughed like an asshole if he'd been told this is how he would spend the next day. With his ex, running from the tabloids and checking out some alien beasts in the districts, wheelchair clanking around in the back seat and the taste of garlicky breadsticks lingering on his mouth.

Fucking incredible.

Before long they're rolling up outside Tavros' hive again and he just parks along the curb since there isn't really any decent parking around. He worries vaguely for his paint job as he's getting out and noticing how many suspicious trolls are watching him, but tries not to pay them much attention as he's fetching the chair.  
   
The jeers and catcalls coming from inside the building aside, Tavros looks more at ease to be within the comfortable confines of the districts. 

 _Nitram,_  someone calls, he only half turns. One of the ruddier bloods has gotten bold enough to stand in the doorway, attempting to look nonchalant even if he's shaking like a leaf. Nine sweeps, just kicked out of the boys’ home and launched into adult life, hardly a word of English to him. The white head of his tiny lusus is peaking out of his collar.  _Nitram! Is this how you plan to pay your rent? Not bad, cullbait._  

He casts a glance to Dave.

“Come back when you can say that without your lusu _s,_ ” he starts, at first in English then in Alternian. “Get out of the way, he's coming inside.” The trolls in the doors balk, hesitate, and then quickly disperse.  
   
Dave watches the crowd, particularly that smartass in the doorway, then Tavros, then back to the crowd again, and back to Tavros when they scatter. He's not sure how to react, one eyebrow raising as he wheels the chair over and helps him into it.  
“What the hell was that all about?”  
   
“Nothing.   They're just—not, used to humans? Especially not, rich rock star, humans showing up with, trolls like me.”  
   
“Yeah, well, they sure cleared off fast. Whatever you said scared the shit out of them.”

He'd be impressed if he wasn't getting the feeling like he should be uncomfortable.

Actually no, he's still impressed anyway. Look at this tough guy telling off the other kids on the playground. He steps back to let Tavros go in first, locking up the car remotely and glancing warily around as he goes.  
   
The place is the epitome of run down. The paint, a garish yellow, is peeling from the wall. The plaster's broken and smashed in a hundred places. There are pieces of horn stuck in there and blood from murky red to green splattered over a few places. The damage looks pretty fresh.

It’s old news as far as the troll is concerned.

Tavros gives the elevator a try and by some miracle, the rickety thing responds. Good. He doesn't have to crawl up the stairs.

Once Dave's in he hits floor four and up they go, exiting and leading Dave towards apartment 413. It takes a moment or two for him to get his keys out but once they are the door swings open and the mess inside is revealed.

And _oh_ , is it messy. The floor is covered with everything from clothes to take-out boxes. The couch is unmade and looks as if it's being slept on—which it is, of course, judging by the huge array of blankets and pillows piled on top of it. Indiana Jones has cycled back to the DVD title. A purple, reptilian looking tail swishes back and forth over the screen, disappearing into the shadowy crack above it when the door shuts.

The kitchen is immaculate, at least, probably from lack of use. And the walls—brightly painted, covered in photos (most of Aradia and Tavros from ages six to thirty-two, a few scattered group shots, individual shots of friends, and one lone photo of Tavros and Dave during their first apartment's housewarming party), look unscathed. 

He wheels carefully amidst the chaos and reaches a hand out towards the dark of the TV and is rewarded with the small, vicious looking dragon hopping out of the dark, up his arms, and curling itself around his shoulders.  
   
Dave can't say he hasn't seen trashier, by far, but maybe it's the utter jump from human to alien that puts him out of his element. It's hard to say. He follows along and sticks close, looking around when he isn't looking down to make sure he doesn't trip on something. At first he thinks he's hallucinating when there's a flash of something  _moving_  so he pays it no mind and glances toward the pictures, instead, giving them a brief scan.

But he quickly looks away again when he spies the one of him and Tavros, and when he does he's greeted by a  _fucking Fiduspawn sitting on Tavros’ shoulders what the hell_  and takes a step back. ]

“Whoa, jesus christ.   No way, that's an actual Fiduspawn?”  
   
“Yes way. This is, an actual Fiduspawn,” the troll says, rubbing his thumb under the creature's chin and earning a delighted chirp and a gentle nuzzle in return.  “This guy is, pretty rare. He's one of the elites, and, one of the original elite breeds, at that.”  
   
“Fuck.”

Dave's not fooled by the cute noises, there is no way he's putting his hand anywhere near that thing. He just watches from his respectable distance, more mystified than he really means to be. You can't control your facial expression when you're seeing alien monsters for the first time, okay.  “I thought it'd be... bigger.”  
   
“This breed has an acid breath. Its strength, is in its small size and, ability to blend into the shadows.   The rest of them are probably, in my respiteblock.”  
   
“You just let those things hang out in your room, huh.”

He turns his head as if looking elsewhere, his interest lost, but he is still side-eying the fuck out of that acid dragon. Don't you even look at me. Don't even smell me with your... alien sniffing tendrils or whatever they're called. I will cut your head off and put it in a jar of formaldehyde so help me g—wait that hobby got boring ages ago.

I’m still on to you, pal.  
   
“They're my friends. “

The dragon wiggles a tentacle in his direction before setting its head back on Tavros' shoulder, content to soak up the lowblood's warmth.  “They've kept me company and, all they ask in return is, a little food and, uh, love. I'm happy, to let them walk around.”

Dave now understands the depth of Tavros Nitram's loneliness.  
   
“We really gotta get you out more. Not that they're not totally cool and everything.”  
   
“I don't usually, have the energy to go out, to be honest.”  
   
“Well... that's what chauffeurs are for.”

And a maid, from the look of this place. He keeps forgetting Tavros is supposed to be  _old_.

“So what're the other ones like? Equally tiny and creepy?”  
   
“Uhh, no. They're rather large and - hey, he's not creepy! They're...”  He trails off, then decides to just commune to call them out.

The creatures that slink out of his room happen to be a short, squat house-sized bull with six legs, brown in coloring and brilliant gold in the horns, and a large, dark sabre-tooth wolf.  Tiny, no. creepy... still yes. But cool is also a definite yes. Dave makes equally no attempt at getting anywhere near them as they approach, with a hand held at his side like even to this day he might still find a sword there.

“Okay, I can see why they're not allowed outside the districts. Any normal person would pretty much crap their pants if they saw something like that walking around outside.”  
   
“They wouldn't hurt anyone. They're, very well behaved,” Tavros insists with a small frown.  
   
“Hey, I believe you. But that's coming from the same guy that makes friends with really bad trolls, because, as is a well-known printed fact in basically any magazine that exists, I am crazy like a fox and also a recovering alcoholic, which makes my judgment questionable. My word probably wouldn't hold up in the court hearing of America versus Fiduspawn.”  
   
The troll looks up in surprise.  “You were, an alcoholic?”  
   
“’Were.’ At least, that's what they said in Us Weekly.”  
   
“I didn't know,” Tavros says, although he thinks afterward that no, he sort of did.  
   
Dave shrugs it off.  “It took the edge off. If anyone with a microphone ever asks, though, that's not the answer you want to give. Just a heads up.”  
   
“I won't answer them at all.”  
   
“Good, you're learning. I'd pat you on the shoulder but I think your dragon guy wants to eat me.”  
   
The Fiduspawn on Tavros’ shoulder is calm and perfectly content, hardly paying Dave any attention at all.  Tavros frowns.  “He's not going to eat you. Just, pet him.”  
   
“Nah, I'm good. I know all about things that can smell fear. First they lure you in by acting all innocent, then they tease you a little, and then they get their spit all over your face.”  
   
“Dave, I can read his thoughts. He really, doesn't want to eat you. You're pretty much the opposite, of what he finds tasty.”  
   
A discomforted noise of assent. Yeah, okay, fine.  Dave hesitantly moves closer, one hand held out in front of him, fingers splayed, and just walks himself within arm's reach and only stops once he's near enough to lightly brush against the dragon's head.

He winces like a big pansy baby thinking he’s about to get bit, and the worst thing he gets is the creature pushing its head into his hand.  “See,” Tavros sighs, “It’s fine.”  
   
Dave doesn’t entirely relax, but he’s emboldened enough to actually pet the thing properly, a little. “He's just biding his time.”  
   
“He eats smaller Fiduspawn. Not, people. Human blood actually, makes them ill, according to certain studies. He's more likely to bite me, than you.”  The dragon's pretty much just kneading its claws in Tavros' shirt.  
   
“Jesus, don't give it any ideas.”  He tries scratching under its chin.  Aw, it’s kind of like a kitten.  A big dragon kitten that spits acid.  The moment he does, it begins purring with little clicks and chirrups and Dave is instantly endeared to it, scratching with both hands, his fears forgotten.  “No fair, I want one.”  
   
“Sorry, trolls only.”  
   
“Lame. You're being an awesome-hog, that's not okay. I gotta find out if there's any conceivable way to permit taking these things for a stroll in the park.”  
   
“Maybe. They're, good around other animals... I do need someone to, uh, walk them since, I, can't really do that...”  
   
Dave scritches furiously down the dragon’s back and it arches, purring and chirping and when the tummy rubs start it rolls itself off of Tavros’ shoulder and onto the couch.  “Dude, I will pay you to let me walk this thing around town for a while, the reactions would be worth every single cent.”  
   
Tavros laughs.  “Just as long as you’re careful.”  
   
“Careful is my middle name, right in-between Roosevelt and Flipside which are also my middle names.”  
   
“You can't have three middle names.”  It’s clear that the two have become new best friends.  Tavros can see where he’s not needed, slowly rolling his chair away to try and get a little much-needed cleaning up done while they’re occupied.  
   
“They're all in the middle, aren't they?”

Short of actually babytalking the Fiduspawn, he is definitely preoccupied in smothering it with attention. As long as it keeps being adorable and liking it, he keeps being glad something actually wants his attention.  It's wriggling and purring and generally being absolutely delighted with all the attention it's getting from someone other than Tavros. 

Clothes and blankets off of the floor have made it far more navigable. Tavros starts sliding off to his laundry room when he glances out the window, brows slowly drawing together.

“...Dave.”  He's not  _sure_  at first, but no, that's definitely… “Dave, someone's trying to get into, your car.”  
   
“Huh?”

Dave jumps to his feet, moving over to the window. It takes him a second, less time than it took Tavros but just long enough to register and then he's checking to make sure he has his keys—yeah, he has them. Then he's turning, looking around, why isn't there anything useful in here to  _defend_  himself with.

Glass bottle. He snatches it up and holds it by the neck, heading for the door. It's not much of a weapon, but he's not out to jump anyone. He'll just need something to swing if it turns into a fight, there's no way he can take on a troll with his bare hands.  
   
“Dave…”  This could go really bad, really fast. Tavros is old as old can be and Dave's a smart-mouthed human armed only with a bottle. He  _should_  stay put and almost does, but that just feels  _wrong_  so he's hesitantly following after.  “You can’t—they’re just going to see that, as a challenge!”  
   
“Yeah, well, I can't go out there with nothing, either. And why are you coming, are you out of your mind? Stay here.”

He says like he isn't mental himself, not waiting for Tavros to obey or refuse and darting as spritely as can be down the stairs and out onto the street. For what it's worth, at least he makes a weak attempt at keeping his excuse for a weapon hidden.  
   
The words die on Tavros’ lips ( _Dave, they're psychics_ ) and he's left sitting there dumbstruck. Idiot. He's stuck waiting for the elevator to get down, only hoping that Dave isn't in over his head before he gets there. 

The trolls hardly notice the approaching human, too busy discussing the car's worth and parts and who would be  _stupid_  enough to ride something like this right on in? It's begging to be scrapped and sold.  
   
“Checking out the goods, huh?”

Dave swaggers onto the scene after he's slowly lowered the bottle neck-up onto the sidewalk where he can get back to it easily. No need to walk up like he's looking for a fight. Nice and casual.

Funny how he was too afraid to touch a Fiduspawn, but doesn't bat an eye at walking right into a group of potentially hostile trolls. Sburb didn't teach him too many real-world lessons, not that he remembers much of that anymore, anyway  
   
The bigger of the two trolls pauses, pushing back from the car to look over at the human. Elbowing his friend, teeth baring in a nasty sort of grin. “Look, look, the little redblood thinks he's got a chance.”

“We'll show him a thing or two.”

“This yours, human-man?” the shorter troll growls in broken English, running a claw along the seam of the door.  
   
“Sure is.”  He learned a thing or two from Terezi about Alternian, his own lip curling when he growls right back. “From the look of it, I'd wager you wanna be taken for a ride.”

He scopes out his exits, nudging the bottle at his feet with his leg. Rumors are typically at least partly true, and there's certainly some truth in the rumor that Strider likes getting himself into trouble. After all, if his manager hadn't stopped him he would have brought the fight right to his rivals' doorstep, outnumbered and all.  
   
“You think you can take us?” The two howl with laughter, pushing off the car. “You're in our territory now. We're playing by our rules. Run along to your lusus.”  
   
“Oh, I know I can take you. I’m just not so sure I wanna get your dirty blood on my clothes.”

He picks the bottle up, gesturing. The only phrase he learned how to speak in clean Alternian is also his favorite, a click and growl— _let's go._ That does it. Their faces flush dark, teeth bared in a snarl. The bigger of the two surges forward, broad hands curled in a fist aimed for Dave's face. The other hangs back, hands rising to his temples, focusing his powers on trying to ensure that the bigger brute has an opponent that's not going to be doing much fighting.  If not for that unfair advantage, Dave might actually have a chance. Might. At the very least he could run away when he realizes the trouble he's in, but not now. He steps back and swings that bottle like a baseball bat, only to have his whole body come to a shrieking halt halfway to contact. Arm frozen in midair, the other held up to protect his ribs, legs spread. Stopped. Like a statue.

It takes just long enough for his eyes to go wide before the hits start landing, and he doesn't even have the purchase to scream. Feeling comes back into his limbs and he drops like a rock onto his knees, the bottle drops from his hand and shatters on the ground and he reaches for one of the larger shards. His fingers can't even grasp it before he's suddenly up in the air, legs kicking and struggling weightlessly before he's hurled through the glass window of the hivestem.  
   
It's about that time that Tavros manages to get down—fuck the elevator, he'd had to take the stairs and get down as fast as possible. Halfway to hauling himself back into his chair Dave comes through the window, red everywhere and  _fuck_  god no, he should have known better, dammit, why didn't he know better?

He's torn between checking the human over and getting in to make a defensive stance when the two swagger in. “Get his wallet, keys,” a sharp jab towards Dave's pockets. He freezes, their voices raise, “WALLET AND KEYS,” and they're not joking around, they really will kill him, no troll alive would rat out his own kind against a human. Except maybe Tavros, maybe, but he keeps his head down and doesn't stir trouble. 

Not fast enough. The psychic swings his hand and Tavros hits the wall, legs sprawling awkwardly. He may be a notch higher than them with friends in high places, but he's an old troll and crippled at that. Legally he's cullable.

“Okay!”  He's crawling over broken glass and grabbing Dave's shirt, tugging him closer, and whispering a frantic  _stay down, just stay down_ as he pats his pockets down and retrieves his car keys and wallet for the thug trolls.  
   
Dave’s having a time moving at all, anyway, though he does grind his teeth and jerk in an attempt at getting up when Tavros gets hit, snarling inhumanly—not an attempt at Alternian, just like a wild animal. All the bitching and growling in the world isn't freeing him from that stranglehold of a psychic bond, though.

When it loosens and disappears he jerks again but takes Tavros' advice and holds still. They're both no match here and he's smart enough ( _now_ , anyway) to realize it. Nothing they can take from him isn't something he can just get back again, it's not worth it. _It's not worth it. It's not worth it. It's not worth it._ His fists clench, teeth grind. _Not worth it. Just stay down. Not worth it._

He shakes with rage but stays down, watching the bigger trolls with hatred.  
   
Keys and wallet are quietly and quickly handed over. Tavros is rewarded with a boot to the horn that leaves his head ringing, but that's fine. They back out, not baring their back to the enemy, young and streetwise and powerful enough to crush them should they try again. Outside, they thumb through the wallet, excited exclamations rising. The car doors open and shut, the engine roars to life and skidding tires shriek across pavement. 

They're gone. 

Tavros is quiet for a moment, staring at the glass stuck in his skin.  “What, were you  _thinking_?”  
   
“I told you to stay  _there_.”

Dave sits up slowly, wincing, there's glass peppered through his hair and all over his face, his hands, anything his clothes didn't pad and even then there's blood. His eye is already starting to swell, he's just glad they knocked his glasses off instead of breaking them. He might've had to hunt them down and kill them if that had happened.

Nothing broken, though, just a thorough roughing up. He's had worse, he thinks. Maybe.  
   
“Because, you had it handled _so well_.”  Tavros looks down at his legs and adjusts them carefully, pulling out shards of glass carefully as he can, sliding his hand a little further up to rub at his hip. Fuck. That's going to hurt for a while.  
   
“I can take care of myself. Now you're hurt, too.”

Getting to his feet  _hurts_ , he practically has to drag himself up the wall and something in his back hurts so bad that he almost can't stand, legs trembling violently and threatening to give way. Stubbornly, he remains standing.

“Fuck.”  
   
Tavros crawls carefully back to his chair, managing to haul himself into the seat with considerable effort.  “They would have, killed you.”  Just as he sits, the elevator dings pleasantly and the doors slide open.  
   
Something is wrong with Dave’s back, when he takes a step he sort of jerks to one side awkwardly and has to lean back up against the wall again. Something out of place, or a pinched nerve, he doesn't know. Using the wall for support, he limps and stumbles his way toward the elevator.

“Can't say it'd be a tragedy. You okay?”  
   
“It doesn't hurt, all that bad.”  Just a raging headache and some joint pain, nothing he's not accustomed to.  “You, on the other hand, might want to stop, by the hospital...”  
   
“I'll go later, I gotta call—“

Oh motherfucker.  He realizes with a start and swears profusely under his breath.  This just keeps getting better and better.

“My fucking phone was in the car.”  
   
“You can use, mine.”  
   
Dave takes a moment to just let a long sigh out through his nose. This is literally the worst day. The worst day.  Of all the bad ideas he has ever had, this is probably the worst of them.

He’s _seething_  as he hobbles into the elevator.

“Okay.”  
   
“Sorry.”  The troll wheels carefully into the elevator behind him, hits the button and leans back against his chair. His hip feels like it's on fire. Distant fire, since feeling around that area isn't the best, but fire none the less.  
   
If Dave weren't so unfathomably pissed off he might actually feel sorry for what's going to end up happening to those trolls. Once he makes a few calls and gets everything in order it'll only be a matter of hours before someone is sent out to deal with them. They have teams that do it, now, ever since the government realized that they would have to find a new way to deal with errant lowblooded trolls forcefully.

He shrugs off any concern over the ethics of it with a glower pointed at the floor, his face red with frustration again. It won't take long to sort out. He'll get it dealt with, worry about fixing shit later, can just go home and stay home and not get any bright ideas about catching up to old friends ever again. Their lives have just grown too different.

That's the only part that upsets him, watching Tavros with as steely and expressionless a stare as he can manage with his eyes uncovered.  He can feel Dave's eyes on him and hates every second of it. He should have been smarter, kept it to a dinner date and sent him off once it was done. Trolls don't  _like_ humans, they're terrified of them. Envious of them. They react with a mixture of fear and violence that only ends in tragedy. Eyes averted, he rubs his hip and keeps his head down when the doors open and he wheels out. 

District Four is the better of the lowblood districts. It has the highest concentration of trolls with useful abilities, so it's better funded than most. But that doesn't make it safe or livable for everyone. Highbloods may be more known for their violence, but they don't fight for food or space. 

He unlocks his door and scoots carefully over to the couch. The dragon jumps from its perch on the window to skitter back to its hiding place, watching carefully as Tavros pulls himself from his chair and back into the nest of blankets and pillows.

“The phone is in the, nutrition preparation block.”  
   
“Thanks.”

Quiet, Dave makes his way to the kitchen with his slow, awkward gait, trying not to trip over anything on the way. Will they ever see each other again after this? They've hardly any reason to; it seems pretty clear by now. But this, and then leaving Tavros to his own devices until he eventually dies, it still doesn't seem right. It wasn't right this morning and it doesn't feel right now.

Then again, he had wanted to do something good for him by laying their ill feelings to rest, and look how that turned out. It's even worse now.

He spends awhile on the phone, calling his bank, his manager, the police to report his car stolen and to give a description of his attackers. They ask if he wants an ambulance sent out and he says no, not yet. His manager offers to pick him up and take him once he's done dealing with the newest mess.  _You've really done it again, haven't you, Dave._

Dave hangs up on him and makes his way back out.

“I'll have a ride in a couple hours.”  
   
“Okay.”

Tavros has the blankets up over his legs and a Fiduspawn curled up on his chest, fingers carefully playing over its scales.

“You can, um.”  Stay. Obviously.  “Watch some TV, if you want. I've got some, English channels. Oh, and, I've got some stuff, in the cleansing block cabinet, for any pain you might be, feeling.”  
   
“Yeah, I'll—be right back.”

After scoping out the bathroom, Dave spends a good twenty minutes in it cleaning up and just staying in there to brood. He can't do much for the blood all over him but he finds something for the back pain and washes his face, dabbing gently around his eye and deciding he better lay off the shades for a while.

When he's done he's lost all notions of his typical swagger, dragging himself to the couch and leaning up against the arm of it. A nod in greeting, glancing at the TV.

“What's on? Doesn't have to be English, I love watching foreign shit. It's like Telemundo but with horns.”  
   
“It's, Thresh Prince of Bell Air reruns.”  
   
“Awesome.”

Dave doesn't spend very much time looking at the TV, though, because a wave of vertigo prompts him to hastily sit down.

“Dang, these meds kick in fast...”

He starts to wonder if he didn't take too many, because it feels like the entire room is being tilted on its side and he grabs the arm of the couch to stop himself from falling. But he's not falling, he's just slowly tipping over onto Tavros' side, wigging out on Alternian painkillers.  
   
“Dave?”  Suddenly there's a human against him. Tavros blinks and half-leans away, not sure how to even begin to broach this subject... Maybe they were too strong for him? Mmm.

Okay. Going to carefully, guide the ex into a sitting position on the couch.  It’s so much movement. Dave’s hand scrabbles for the arm of the couch again, only to realize he's still holding it. A few bleary blinks, leaning back so he doesn't sway one way or the other again.

“I thought it was just, y'know, like Tylenol or something.”  
   
“No, it's, uh... more like, a tranquillizer, I guess? It's mostly for, joint pain.”  
   
“Christ.”

Everything that could go wrong today has.  His eyes close, relaxing once he doesn't feel like he's being shaken back and forth.  His system is freaking out a little, but as he settles it starts to feel really relaxing, enough that after five minutes or so he opens his eyes again and feels fine. Just.

Kind of fucked up.  
   
Tavros glances his way and then shakes his head a little, shutting his eyes as Dave’s open.  “You might want to try, uh, napping. Before, your drive shows up.”  
   
“Yeah... maybe.”  A vague smile, head lolling to the side to look at Tavros. “Some kinda guest I am, huh.”  
   
“It's okay.”  Tavros sits up a little more, drapes his blankets across Dave like he used to.  “It's been nice, seeing you again. Things are always more interesting, when, you're around.”  
   
“Understatement of the century.”

He fluffs the blankets out to envelop the two of them, just like he used to.  _You're making me look like a blanket hog, dude. Sharing is caring._

“Still worth it, though. I kinda missed you, Tav.”  
   
“I kind of missed you too, Dave.”

It's weird. It's weird, but nice.  Dave shuts his eyes again, drops his hand over Tavros' and lets himself doze. He's still lucid enough to hear the TV and every once in awhile his fingers twitch around Tavros', but for the most part he is just way the hell out of it. Not awake, not asleep, but still dreaming.

Much nicer things are happening in his dreams than real life, but that's because his one-track mind is typically at its best when he isn't actually using it.  
   
These are uncomfortably red overtones to what should have been an utterly platonic outing. Tavros hesitates to move, turning his attention to the TV and hoping that if he stares hard enough and focuses hard enough on the characters on the screen, he won't really notice how fast his blood pusher is beating or lose himself in this familiar feeling.

He never got over Dave Strider. Left him, hoped he'd come back, and found himself simply too old to put himself out there again. Meanwhile, he knew Dave had probably lived the high life. Seen a lot of different people, been in a lot of different beds. 

He sweeps his thumb over Dave's hand before quietly extricating his own from under it, stroking the Fiduspawn on his lap and tries to squash old hopes underneath the weight of their circumstances.  
   
Dave sleeps for the first hour of his stay, murmuring occasionally in his sleep and being generally restless, half because his sleep is never really restful anymore, and half because the medicine gives him crazy dreams. It starts out really nice, kind of Wrong but nice (and here he thought he'd gotten over his feelings for Tavros years ago, dang), but ends in nightmares and flashes of swords and blood.

When he wakes it's with a little bit of a start, sitting straight up and wincing a little at the twinge in his back. For a moment he can't remember where he is or how he got there, but it only takes a couple seconds of looking around in bewilderment for it to come back to him.

“What happened?”  
   
By this point, Tavros' hip is throbbing uncontrollably and he's too damn sore to get off of the couch and over to the bathroom to clean himself up proper. He's half asleep, almost gone completely when Dave jolts and the shockwaves make him hiss.

“You, fell asleep.”  
   
“Oh. Shit, sorry. What time is it? Did I miss my ride?”

Good god he is stiff. There's still plenty of medication in his system, but in place of pain he feels like he hasn't moved an inch in years. His swollen cheekbone throbs when he rubs his eyes.  
   
“It's six. You've only been out, about an hour.”  
   
“Oh.”

Dave thinks about getting up but decides he's still a bit too dizzy, looking around the room and then back at Tavros. He doesn't remember a thing at all before he fell asleep, nothing seems off to him at all (except the dreams, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't dreamt stuff like that before. About a lot of people. Multiple times).

“You okay?”  
   
“I'm fine, it's just, my hip is sort of, sore. Still.”  Yeah. Sore.  “You can go back to sleep. I'll tell you, when your ride is here.”  
   
“D'you need something?”

He’s 99% sure that he could easily fall back asleep if he let himself, and 99% sure he doesn’t want to just yet.  
   
“No, I...” Well.  “Do you think you could grab my medication? I don't think, I can get up.”  
   
“Uh... yeah, sure. No problem.”

The real question is: can he get up without running into anything or falling over? There's a weak wince as Dave stands, stiff and sore, but whatever's wrong with his back doesn't trouble him enough to stop him from making the short walk from the couch to the bathroom.

On his way back, he only vaguely bumps into a wall once! Truly a marvelous feat, in his humble opinion. He hands the medicine over, falling back into his seat with a muffled _oomph_.  
   
“Thanks.”

Tavros pops the pills and leans back, adjusting the dragon on his lap.  It won’t take long for them to kick in, and by then he’s hoping he’ll be feeling much better.  Dave seems to be lucid enough to realize the dragon is there and reaches over to give it a little scratch behind what could loosely be called its ear, leaning back against the couch to avoid the sensation of swaying once again.  
   
“So I was thinking, uh. I'm probably gonna lay low for awhile, after I get all that car shit sorted out, but... I was thinkin' we could still talk on pesterchum. If you want.”  
   
“That sounds, okay by me.”  
   
“Cool. I dunno how—in contact you wanna stay exactly, but I'm down for whatever.”

He is such an ace about sounding chill about it. Like he doesn't really want to remain in touch and would be kind of upset if they weren't, after all this.  Clearly.  
   
“I guess, whenever we both have the time?”  Not that he leaves the apartment all that much. For good reason.  Tavros has nothing but time.  “Would be a good time, to talk...”  
   
“Well, I'm off work for at least a couple of months, and I'm all about time and having lots of it.  I was basically thinking I’d live the bachelor life, being a shut-in and not shaving if I don’t feel like it.  All that stuff.”  
   
“Okay then.”

If someone had told Tavros that he'd be properly reconnecting with his ex after nearly a decade, he'd have laughed rather impolitely in their faces and quietly excused himself to feel sorry for himself in the bathroom.  “Maybe the next time, we see each other in person, it won't be nearly as, uh, crazy, of a day.”  
   
“If it is, let's at least petition for it to be crazy in the good way.”

The way where nobody gets hassled by stalkers and reporters, beat up, carjacked, robbed, injured or generally screwed over in any way. Also where they aren't awkward and unsure how to approach each other, that too.  
   
“That sounds, fair. Maybe, just uh, a movie or something.  In a, platonic, fashion of course.”  
   
Dave pauses.  “What else would it be?”  
   
Tavros pauses, too.  “Nothing. I don't see, why it would be anything.”  
   
“I don't see why not.”  But he does see, he sees a lot of reasons why not, as does Tavros.  
   
“Uhh… I don’t think…”  
   
“You were the one that said it, not me.”  
   
“And then, I clarified my intent. I think, that the time for any of that is over, for me, so, that's not even a thing, to be bringing up, so I shouldn't have said anything to, clarify an already clear meaning.”  
   
“Okay, okay. For being so solid on it, you're pretty defensive.”

Dave puts his hands up, at the risk of losing his anchor to the couch and feeling as though he's being pitched around at sea again. Thankfully, no such thing happens this time around.  
   
“I’m not defensive,” Tavros huffs.  
   
“You're defensive  _and_  transparent. I like that about you, though, even if it is,  _uhh, in a platonic, fashion, of course_.”  
Dave grins, adjusting the blankets around himself again.

“You never bullshitted me.”  
   
A sigh, the troll rubs a hand over the back of his neck.  “No, I didn't. Not that, you ever listened to me, when I did.”  
   
“I had a lot of problems. Like Casey Anthony  _problems_ , none of that Kardashian crap. If I could do it over, I'd do it in a heartbeat, but I ain't the Knight of Time anymore and that's not how it works.”  He tilts his head back, taking a nice, thick breath of musty air.  “Even if I was I probably waited too long.”  
   
It's what Tavros wanted to hear for so very long. He's not sure if he's hearing it right, but what does he even begin to do with that? He's mishearing it. For sure.  He can’t bring himself to look up, so he keeps his eyes shut.  “What are you saying?”  
   
“I'm saying...”

What  _is_  he saying? He's not sure if he's still tripping. Must be. Otherwise he'd never be saying this; he wouldn't say these things to his own diary.

If he were the type to keep one.

“I'm saying I messed up before, an' I'm sorry. And I'm saying if I could make it up to you, I would. Because, and bear with me here, I'm just saying, you were the best thing that ever happened to me and nobody has any business not doing right by that, even if it is hella late.”  
   
Nearly  _ten years_  he waited to hear all of that, and here it is. Right here, on the table for both of them to see. Can't deny it or turn away and hope this whole night was just a crazy dream, no, it's right here and he's faced with it.

“Dave...”  Fuck. He's too old for this. Dave's life is too chaotic for this. Dave still has to figure himself out.  He chews his lower lip before he answers.  “I'm glad, you said that. But, I don't think that either of us, are in a good place, to be more than friends with anyone, at this point, right now.”  
   
“No kidding.”

He's a wreck and a disaster to be around, today was pretty clear evidence of it and it's far from even the worst he's seen.

“Doesn't mean I can't still use what time I got to make things less shitty. We don't have to be together for that.”  
   
It's a slippery slope, Tavros wants to argue. But he can't say he isn't lonely, and he can't say he won't be glad for the company.

“Okay.”  
   
“Okay.”

Dave's more than glad to see this subject come to a close. He was always much better at holding a grudge and the anger and sense of betrayal kept him from ever coming back, but he can't say there weren't times when he wanted to, anyway. This morning isn't the first time he's noticed Tavros' name on his contact list and thought,  _what if_  over the years, but most of those times were such bad times that even he could recognize how terrible an idea it would have been to contact him then (alone, sitting on the balcony shit-faced drunk and smoking a cigarette, whoever he was with for the night already left and he's feeling empty, completely hollow, looking over the edge and wondering how far down it actually is, and there's nobody online he feels he can talk to anymore, and all he can think about is how he can't remember what actually being happy feels like—nights like that).

“It's a strictly platonic date, then.”  
   
Tavros scratches the dragon's belly and smiles faintly at the resounding purr, it kicks its feet and chitters. This feels risky, dangerous even; he's too old to get his hopes up and his heart broken all over again. But this time there won't be any crying and he already lives alone so it won't be any different when Dave's gone. He's not the same little troll he was. 

He's used to this now.

“Next time you come, though, you should probably take, a less flashy car.”  
   
“I think I might have to brave public transit for that one, actually.”

Since... all of his transportation is flashy. Limos, a tour bus, sports cars, even his manager drives an Ironic Prius. Dave worries briefly for the guy's safety when he gets here to pick him up.  
   
“That's probably for the best.”  Nothing they can steal off of a bus. If Dave dresses down, the worst he'll have to endure some scared trolls trying hard to avoid him.  
   
“I'd say it'd be easier if I just came to pick you up and took off again so we could go to my place, but that joint is nothing  _but_  stairs.”  Which in all honesty he had bought ages ago directly out of spite, just like the two-door car. Unlike the car, however, he periodically misses their first apartment quite a lot.  “I don't have cool alien monsters, anyway. Just a really ugly cat that likes to hide under the porch and hiss at me when I come home at night because it apparently thinks scaring drunk guys is fucking hilarious.”  
   
“Calling him ugly, probably isn't helping your relationship. And, uh, stairs aside, it's just as well, that we stay here. I mean, because, I'm allergic, to cats that is.”  
   
“He is ugly, he's fucking hideous. All scrawny and shit, probably has fleas and mange and all that. I keep trying to get rid of him but he just climbs up the tree out front and then gives me the kitty middle finger and shits on my welcome mat after I leave.  Maybe once I get a license to walk your dragon I'll bring him over and he can eat the cat. Nobody will miss it.”  
This is why Dave hates animals.  He reaches over to scratch the Fiduspawn again.  This one doesn’t count, being an alien monster.  
   
“Maybe you should take him to a vet.”  If he can tame fierce bloodthirsty animals and make them love naptime and cuddles, he can totally make one mangy cat love him.  “And, please don't.”  
   
Maybe ugly kitty really does secretly love him, Dave is just really bad at recognizing it. Because that seems the most likely, given his track record.

“Like he would even get in a car with me. He'd scratch up the seats and pee on everything and then do a tuck-n-roll out the passenger side door. This cat is evil, Tav. Not even the devil can save him.”  
   
 Tavros sighs.  “Whatever you say, Dave. I just think, that if he was evil and hated you, he wouldn't stay. They don't, stay, where they don't feel wanted.”  
   
“Well he ain't wanted.”

Not like snuggly wuggly acid-spitting dragon buddy here. Which he is promptly fawning over in only the most adoring way. It's so cute it's almost sickening.  
   
Tavros watches as the dragon climbs into Dave’s lap, wagging its tail, and thinks to himself that he dares him to say Fiduspawn is stupid _now_.  “I'm sure.”  
   
It’s probably the most openly affectionate he's been with anything in years.  He can’t wait to tell Terezi he hugged a dragon; she’ll be so excited.

“It's not even that I don't like cats,” he says with his face smashed against the dragon in a cuddly manner, “just not that one. You should see it; it looks like someone kicked in its face. It can't even suck its tongue in all the way so it just hangs out like it's just perpetually stuck in childish nineties mockery.”  
   
“If I wasn't allergic, I'd offer to take it off of your hands. But, even when Nepeta comes over, I sneeze, so that would not be a good idea.”  
   
The Fiduspawn begins sloppily licking Dave’s hair in an attempt at grooming him.  He’s got so much product in his hair, it’s got to taste bad.  He leans away a little, half endeared and half kind of grossed out but still too dizzy to move.  
   
“I wouldn't wish that monstrosity on you, man. I wouldn't wish it on people I don't even actually like.  –Speaking of Nep, how is she?”  
   
“She's good. Uh, she's been all over the world, actually. Helping people deal with, our wildlife. She's not home, very often, but when she's back in the States, she always says hi.”  
   
“We ran into each other once while I was on tour, but uh, didn't talk for very long. She looked good, though.”

They just hadn't had much to say to each other. Enough in common to be able to say hello to each other, but not enough to be all that friendly. He stopped speaking to most of the trolls entirely after the breakup.  
   
“She's been doing very well. I usually see, Equius more, actually.” And even that's not very often. Like Gamzee, the blue blood was a government official. He wouldn't be caught dead in District Four but occasionally extended an invitation for Tavros to come keep him company in his massive hive. 

It's no surprise that his neighbors don't much care for him given all these connections.  
   
“I'm surprised he has the time of day for anyone other than like... himself,” Dave says with a faint wrinkle across his nose.  
   
“He’s gotten better, about that sort of thing,” Tavros replies reasonably.  
   
“I wouldn't know, apparently he blocked me after I spammed him with a bunch of pictures of horse dicks, which I don't even remember doing.”  
   
“Yeah, he, uh... He doesn't ever, want to speak to you again, he said, as well as a few other things which, I'm not going to repeat.”  
   
Dave shrugs, apparently unphased.  “I pretty much cut my ties with most of them after we split up. Terezi still has my back because she's obsessed with me, Vriska goes to my shows but I'd rather drop acid in some cheap Russian hostel while a tall bearded guy flogs me with sausage links than talk to her, and every once in awhile Fef sends a mass text that for some reason I'm still on the filter for.”  
   
Tavros blanches at the name and just nods, smoothing his fingers along the dragon's scales and carefully pulling it away from slobbering over Dave's hair with its less-than-safe saliva.

“I don't really, uh, talk to her, all that much anymore. Vriska, that is. But when I do, she's usually saying, how she's seen your show and, things that are not so polite, about them, and you.”  
   
“She's a bitch,” Dave says with a roll of his eyes.  “After she heard about us she started buzzing around all the time at the clubs trying to move in like suddenly since we weren't friends that I'd be her buddy and talk shit about you with her or something. I think the last time I saw her...”  He thinks for a moment, squinting. God, that was ages ago and he just remembers being high as a fucking kite, having a bad night, and at his wit's end with troll bullshit.  “I dunno, I told her to eat shit and die and somebody laughed so hard they puked. Maybe it was me. It was probably me.”  
   
“Mm.”  Tavros is silent for a moment, thoughtful.  “I'm glad, you didn't do that with her.”  
   
“I just didn't want to give her the satisfaction.”

Angry at Tavros or not, he still remembers high school. And Sburb, sort of.  
   
“After we broke up, there was a little while where, she uh, tried. Again, I mean, to, become a part of my life. I wasn't... uh, doing very well, and, if it wasn't for Aradia, things probably would have gone bad, again.”  
   
“Why is she so obsessed with you?”  
   
“I don't know. It's just, always been like that...”  
   
“Christ. I mean, yeah, you're easy to obsess over but she's kind of psychotic about it.”  A pause.  He never had any reason to get along with Vriska, considering who his chosen circle of friends was.  With John he tolerated it, but between Terezi and Tavros, he spent more time antagonizing her and making an enemy of her than anything else, which earned him plenty threats of bodily harm.  “Actually, she's just psychotic in general.”  
   
Tavros shrugs modestly.  “I think it might have something to do, with her Ancestor. But, I'm not sure... It just, happened. If she would stop, hurting me, then I wouldn't mind being around her... But it just keeps happening, so, it's better that we aren't around each other, ever.”  
   
 _When is someone ever going to treat you right,_ Dave wonders. Orobably never, not in his lifetime.

“Maybe she'll grow up and realize what a dick she is eventually.”  
   
“She’s got a long time to.”  
   
“She doesn’t deserve it.”  
   
“No, she doesn't. But, I think that I lived, a good life and been, a good troll. And that's more important, than having a long one.”  
   
Dave opens his mouth to say something, then lets his breath out in a quiet sigh, reaching up to give Tavros a pat on the arm.

“Spoken like a real wise old badass.”  
   
 The troll smiles faintly.  “I'm, a hardcore, badass.”  
   
“Damn right you are. I'm 'bout to get blown away just sitting in your presence. If the dragon weren't weighing me down I'd be sky high right about now.”

He puts his hands up in the universal gesture for "we got a badass in here.”  
   
Snort. Tavros laughs and shakes his head.  “Oh, yeah. For sure. I—“  And then there's a knock. A fast, annoyed ratta-ta-ta too light for a troll, prompting his smile to fade a little.  “I guess, that's your ride.”  
   
“Oh.”

Dave's a little surprised by how disappointed he is—if not for being injured and having way too much drama to deal with, he might even consider telling his manager to buzz off. But when he stands up he remembers exactly why he should really go.

He is in some hella pain.

“Guess so. Aight, little guy—“

Reluctantly, he hands the dragon back to Tavros, but not before giving it one last little scratch. He's wobbling while standing still, sunbursts of pain running up and down his back when he turns to head for the door. Once he reaches it he looks back over his shoulder and doesn't know what to say.

“It was good seeing you, Tav.”  
   
“It was good seeing you too, Dave. “

He strokes the dragon's scales, smiling a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.  Dave smiles back, although it looks more like a wince.

“I'll hit you up later sometime.”  And then he's heading out the door, gesturing airily with one hand and not looking back. His manager takes one look at him, glances past him at the troll inside the house, and then lets him have it.  _What the hell is WRONG with you—_  is all that gets through before Dave pulls the door shut behind him.


End file.
